The Outcast Career
by HoppingInTrees
Summary: In District 1, Kams has always lied to everybody for her entire life. But now that she is the Hunger Games, will she break everything she believes in just so she can maintain her image?
1. The Past

**Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, did not have the wonderful idea of inventing the Hunger Games, therefore, I cannot take credit for the story. HOWEVER, I can take credit for most of the characters. Which is a good thing :)**

**So this is my first time doing a fan fiction, so please, criticism is welcome. Also, just so you know, this first chapter is so that you can get a part of Kams' life. How she thinks, and who she is. It's just so you have a general idea of what kind of person Kams is. So thanks for reading, and reviews/criticism are very welcome!**

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~~~~~THIRTEEN YEARS AGO~~~~~

He placed a knife in my hand. Again. As he will continue to do so for who knows how long. But I don't get it. Why do I have to learn to throw a knife? Aren't we safe at home? I don't understand…

I've seen people throw knives. Not here, but on the box with the moving pictures. My parents call it a… tevelision, I think. But I throw the knife at what Daddy tells me to. They throw it at people. And blood comes out, and it makes me frightened and sick.

Why are they killing each other?

~~~~~ELEVEN YEARS AGO~~~~~

Understanding is a horrible thing. I don't want to know. I don't want to remember. But my parents. They're looking at me. Speaking again. Saying that I have the right to know these things, especially since I can throw a knife so well, and with both hands, and at such a young age. They say I have natural talent. But I don't want to.

~~~~~EIGHT YEARS AGO~~~~~

I am always busy now. My parents are filled with endless directions: eat healthy, but eat a lot, practice throwing your knife before school, study the plants and animals, come straight home after school so you can practice with your bow and arrow, go swimming for an hour in the lake – no breaks. They never fail to disappoint my expectations. Which basically just means they never cease to give me what they call "advice".

~~~~~SEVEN YEARS AGO~~~~~

I try to feel enthusiastic as they place the gift on the table in front of me. But I know it's going to be another weapon. The only good thing about birthdays is that I can spend most of my time doing _whatever_ I want to do with my friends.

I once asked my parents why all of my friends have siblings, and I don't. They said that my friends' parents wanted a larger chance that their kids would be picked. They wanted glory. But my parents told me that they want to focus all their efforts on training one child.

Hooray for me.

~~~~~FIVE YEARS AGO~~~~~

It's the day of my first reaping. I'm scared. I don't want to be picked. Even my parents don't want me to be a tribute, though only because they want me to go through more training. I'm wearing a beautiful white dress Father bought for me. He tells me that we're lucky that we live in the first district. That we are happier than most of the country. That he manages the company that makes all the jewelry. That we have so much more money than a lot of other people.

The faces around me are excited, eager. I don't think I will ever share the same feeling as the rest of them. How could they be so willing to kill?

~~~~~THREE YEARS AGO~~~~~

Nobody understands me! Everybody overestimates me! My entire life, I've been lying about who I am! To everybody! To my father and to my mother! To my friends! To my teachers! Why can't they all just leave? Why can't they get _out_ of my _life_? Just get out and _stay _out!

Why can't I just have a moment of solitude, a moment of peace, a moment where I can just close my eyes, and know that nobody will disturb me?

When my father told me that I am luckier than most of the country's populartion, I couldn't help but think that, if I'm supposed to be lucky, shouldn't I also be happy?


	2. Reflections

**Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, did not have the wonderful idea of inventing the Hunger Games; therefore, I cannot take credit for the story. HOWEVER, I can take credit for most of the characters. Which is a good thing :)**

**This chapter takes place before the Reaping. I'm not completely happy with the chapter, because some parts sound a bit weird, but I didn't really know how to change it – that or I didn't feel like changing it… Anyways, for a pretty uneventful chapter, it's pretty long, even if it's not that long. Hope you like!!**

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**Chapter 2:::Reflections**

I open my eyes, and, as I do so, my body reacts instinctively, becoming tense, as I search the cold dusty room for the source of the noise. I'm careful not to move a muscle as I lay in the bed. Then I see it. Through the small amount of light spilling inside, I spot a distorted figure, just in time to watch it lunge through the air, attacking me…

But it doesn't attack me. Just before it reaches me, I relax, and the next thing I know, it's licking me, all over my face. I smile as I feel the warm fur rubbing against my skin. Hugging the creature, I feel contented for a moment, which is more than what I usually feel. But I've always had a gift with animals – I've always cared about them so much more than I even feel _capable_ of caring for anybody else. I guess I'm just weird. Which doesn't really bother me, because at least _animals_ don't try to judge me like humans do.

The door opens fully and the brilliant light flickers on, revealing the golden mass of fur that I'm still hugging. Soleid whines softly at the sudden change of light, and I quickly stroke the silky golden fur to quiet her down. The dog's whimpers quickly quiet down, and she rests her beautiful head on my legs, which are under the covers. At the doorway stands a tall, handsome man. Tousled brown hair, strong muscles, high cheekbones, and brilliant blue eyes, watching the scene scornfully…

I quickly sit up. Respect for your superiors. An old motto here in District 1, where the old and rich are honored and respected, almost as much as the Capitol. But I don't see any reason to honor the old or the rich or the Capitol. The old yell at us "youngsters" because we're "forgetting the ways of true spirit", the rich treat you with disdain and ignore even an apology, and the Capitol, well, the _Capitol_ treats us like slaves. They are the worst out of all of them. They shouldn't have the ability to control every aspect of our lives. We should be free to do as we wish without _any_ Capitol interference.

Of course, if I don't want to be brutally and publicly killed, I'm not going to say _that_.

"Good morning, Father," I say, stiffly, formally. I sometimes wish I could've been part of the poorer community in District 1. I've seen those families, and, though they are poor, they are amazingly loving and caring. I realized a long time ago something my father will never believe: Money doesn't make happiness, but it does make your personality. And most of the time, the personality can be more than a little overbearing.

My father nods, almost imperceptibly. "Get up Kameron," he says by way of morning greeting. "You need to get ready. Or have you already forgotten what day it is?"

"No Father, I remember." And the second I say those words, a jolt goes through my body as I realize I _do_ remember what day it is.

My father leaves, and I know he is expecting me to do some last minute training. But I can only stare at the door. He acts so natural all the time, even now when his only daughter is about to volunteer to die.

Slowly, I begin to move again. I gently push Soleid, urging her to leave, and, after looking at me reproachfully, she leaps off the bed and exits the room. I begin to get changed into simple black pants, combined with a light green blouse. I can always change into reaping clothes later. But for now, I need to fill every expectation I am given.

Upon my entrance into the kitchen, my mother looks up, excitement plain in her green eyes.

"Good morning, Kams. Today is the big day, you know. Your father just went outside. He wanted me to tell you that he thinks you should go swimming at the lake. I must say that I agree with him – you haven't gone swimming in nearly three days now! We don't want you to forget anything, now do we? _Especially_ since today is your last day here and I don't believe there's any place in the Training Center for you to continue to practice swimming – to think, a whole week without swimming at all! We must hope that you won't forget anything. It could prove absolutely _disastrous_ to your—"

I finally tune my mother out as she sets before me a large platter of scrambled eggs and steaming, buttery biscuits. My mother is a bit clueless sometimes, though I suppose it is possible that she has kind intentions. Perhaps she could've been a generous person, except that she has always thrived on the ideas of others. So now, what could've been the nicest person in the country, is, instead, a rambling mother whose greatest wish is for her only child to kill 23 other teenagers and be scarred for life.

Awesome parents, huh?

I try hard to concentrate on my meal – to concentrate on anything – to block out my mother's constant babbling that keeps reminding me what today is. As I finish my breakfast, I quickly excuse myself, eager to escape my mother's unbearable presence and her extremely talkative, cheery style.

"Don't forget you're to go swimming at the lake!" she calls after me. "You're father would be most displeased if you were to neglect—"

Luckily, the kitchen door swings closed, efficiently cutting off my mother's voice before she can continue any further.

Once in the privacy of my room, I pause and look at myself in the mirror. I barely have any resemblance to my father. Maybe my ears are like his, since my mother's ears are small and rounded. But you can't see mine right now because of the blonde hair that falls halfway down my back. Through the mirror, I can see the reflection of my room. Blue. Everything seems to be one shade of blue or another. It's a stunning color, and, as my view focuses back on myself rather than the room, I can't help but wish, not for the first time, that I had blue eyes rather than the green eyes I inherited from my mother. Blue. It's such a beautiful color. Maybe I love it so much, because I always feel as if my mood is blue…

/~\/~\/~\/~\/~\/~\/~\

Under the bright sun, the lake throws off blinding flashes of light. This lake is almost unknown to everybody. My family is the one exception. Behind our large house is a modest, wooden fence that separates our home from a decent sized piece of woods. The first time that my father had me run through the woods (it's apparently important that I'm able to run across all types of terrain), I came across a beautiful, clear lake. Shallow and medium-sized, my father immediately discerned it as an extremely convenient place where I could learn to swim. For years, he had instructed me in becoming a proficient swimmer, and, once satisfied that I was, he soon began to expect me to come here of my own will.

And I did.

This lake is the most private place I can come to. My parents never come here, and nobody else knows about it. It is the one place where I can find peace and solitude. Coming to the lake means I can swim, I can relax, I can climb a tree – I can do _anything_ I want. When my father tells me to come here, I readily do so, merely so that I can have hours of alone time. Hours of complete bliss.

I would be feeling complete bliss right now, if it wasn't the day of the reaping. This is the year my parents have long anticipated—the year they expect me to volunteer. As I climb higher into the highest tree I can find, the sun begins to rise a little higher in the sky, as well. I stop a moment to sit on a branch as I stare out at the sunrise, all the while wondering and asking myself the same question over and over again: Shouldn't I have a choice?

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**Author's Note: Thanks to everybody who actually took the time to read this and thanks to everybody who previously reviewed the last chapter!**

**A quick heads up: I lent my only copy of THG to a friend who, on Saturday, left for a week's time to her grandparents' home. So I'm probably not going to have my book to refer to as I write the next chapter about the reaping. If you see any mistakes in the timing of events, please tell me. I'll do my best with memory.**


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